


Big Enough for Two

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Series: Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Meddling, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's meddling forces Mycroft and Greg to share a hotel room. Mycroft's self-control is tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Enough for Two

**Author's Note:**

> A king size bed in the UK is the same as a queen size in most countries (roughly 150cm x 200cm).

When Greg resigned himself to accepting that one of his cases intersected with Mycroft’s, he hadn’t expected to find himself accompanying Mycroft to act as a liaison on behalf of the Met. Nor had he expected to be whisked away from London for a couple of days without any complaint from his superiors, and he most definitely did not expect to be sharing accommodation with Mycroft. Separate rooms, though, or at least that’s how it was meant to be.

Admittedly, the day had gone relatively well, despite finishing up later than anticipated. His position as DCI had made things smoother; Mycroft was using his minor government position cover while keeping a wary eye out over the proceedings. The day had not been without the occasional hiccup, however, and it seemed they were in for another.

“Holmes, a booking for two rooms.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We only have one room booked under your name.”

“I believe I have a booking for two rooms,” Mycroft reiterates tiredly.

“Our records show that you cancelled your second room on the eleventh of this month.”

Mycroft frowns. The eleventh was more than two weeks ago. Perhaps Anthea changed it without his knowledge…             

“Are there any available rooms?”

“Unfortunately we are fully booked out tonight.”

“Unbelievable,” Mycroft mutters under his breath, cogs turning quickly in his mind. “And all too coincidental.”

His mobile starts ringing and the look of realisation followed by exasperation tells Greg that Sherlock is involved in this somehow.

“If you will excuse me for a moment; I must take this call.”

 Greg watches Mycroft’s retreating figure and desperately hopes he doesn’t take the opportunity to fire the poor concierge behind the desk. It’s late, he’s exhausted, and he really doesn’t want this to escalate into something if it’s not necessary. They’re grown men—surely they can work something out.  

“Look, sorry about that—mistake on our end, so, um, it’s fine. We’ll take it.”

The sigh of relief is almost audible. “If you can get your, your…” She waves in Mycroft’s direction.

He almost says colleague, because they are here together on a work-related basis after all, but they’re friends, too. However, the times they’ve spent chatting over a drink, watching over Sherlock, and working together in close proximity has left him wishing for something more. “Friend,” he supplies helpfully.

“Friend,” she repeats, eyebrows raised. Greg wonders how their relationship looks like to her. “Just have your friend sign here, and then I can give you the key cards to the room In the meantime, I’ll have someone attend to your bags immediately.”

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft hisses. “What have you done?”

“A good evening to you too, Mycroft.”

“Don’t play ignorant. It is a most unattractive trait.”

“Thankfully, impressing you is the least of my concerns.”

“The booking, Sherlock.” Mycroft rolls his eyes and huffs in exasperation.    

“The extra room was unnecessary. I thought that was rather obvious. You can thank me later.”

“I believe I shall be hard pressed to find something worth thanking you for.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be right now? Even at this late hour, there are forms to sign, room keys to collect, a bed to warm… Best not to keep the inspector waiting; I understand it has been a long and trying day for you both.”

Mycroft glances over to the desk. Gregory is talking to the concierge, and both of them seem to have reached an agreement, if the relieved smile on the lady’s face is any indication. Gregory, too, appears more relaxed, yet the line of his shoulders speaks volumes about his exhaustion. “This is preposterous.”

“Nonsense. Think of it as an opportunity. Enjoy your evening in close proximity with Lestrade.”

“I loathe you, brother mine.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re looking awfully smug after a conversation with your brother,” John comments, looking at Sherlock over his newspaper once Sherlock has ended the call. “Go on; tell me what you’ve done this time.”

A smile stretches across Sherlock’s face and John raises his eyebrows. “Merely orchestrated a small surprise for Mycroft, John. And perhaps gave him a little nudge in the right direction.”

“By cancelling one of their rooms?” John shakes his head. “What did he do to deserve it this time?”

“And booking out the other rooms, John,” Sherlock corrects proudly, and then adds, “With Mycroft’s influence, of course. I deemed it sufficient punishment for taking away Lestrade and leaving me to work with beings that _ooze_ incompetency even in the very way they breathe.”

“Sherlock!” admonishes John. “Surely you can survive for a couple of days. Head down to St. Barts or something. Start on a new experiment, maybe.” Not long after he has thrown out a few suggestions, curiosity gets the better of him and he asks, “How did you even know where they were staying?”

“This is Lestrade we’re talking about. His diary was lying on his desk for anyone to see.” 

John laughs heartily. “Surprised Greg hasn’t learnt by now.” After another sip of hot tea, a thoughtful hum, and a moment’s consideration, he remarks mildly, “Well, this could be interesting.”

 

* * *

 

The porter has already put their luggage aside and Mycroft has ducked into the bathroom, so Greg takes the opportunity to survey their accommodation for the evening. The room is quite spacious—sufficient enough for two people, really. In fact, he’s beginning to suspect this hotel room is actually intended for two people, or for someone who’s a sucker for luxurious accommodation while away on holiday, if the king size bed is anything to go by. Or, Greg thinks, perhaps a messy sleeper. There’s a sofa pushed against the side of the wall, and he sinks down onto it gratefully. A wide grin crosses his face as the gigantic bed continues to conjure mental images of Mycroft and his ridiculously long limbs sprawled all over the mattress with the bedding thrown about.

Greg’s too slow to hide his smile when Mycroft emerges from the bathroom, raising a questioning eyebrow his way, so he retaliates with a shrug and asks in lieu of an explanation, “A king bed for one person, really?”

Mycroft coughs lightly. “I do prefer not to have my feet hanging off the edge of the bed.”

“Right. And that there is exactly why I’ll be taking the sofa tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gregory. You are clearly exhausted and it is obvious you are in need of a good night’s rest.” Mycroft casts a disdainful look in the sofa’s direction. "Nor is the sofa sufficient for a man of your stature."

“And it’s even less sufficient for a man with legs that go on for days. No, you take the bed. This is perfectly fine for me. If I can fall asleep at my hard desk, I can fall asleep on this sinfully comfy thing.” Greg kicks off his shoes, relishing the brief look of horror on Mycroft’s face before he drew his legs up. “I can just curl up... like this, see? Now, I’m not budging from here until you have your shower.”

It’s almost endearing for Mycroft to see Gregory lying on the sofa with his feet tucked up behind his legs, a fierce look in his eye and his jaw set stubbornly. It’s a look Mycroft has seen all too often during Sherlock’s childhood, and even now, he finds himself acquiescing without any resistance. Not that Gregory needs to know, of course.

“If you insist, Gregory.” They can discuss the matter of the bed after. There is no rush; after all, negotiation ishis strong point, and Gregory _will_ be spending the evening in the bed, regardless. 

“Now off you go, Mycroft.” Greg cracks a tired smile. “Not moving until you’re done.”

When Mycroft returns from his shower, dressing gown wrapped firmly around his silk pyjamas, Gregory is already fast asleep on the sofa, still curled up in the same position. Well, he was certainly correct about not budging from his spot, and there’s no negotiating to be had with someone fast asleep. His first thought is to somehow move Gregory to the bed, like he had done with Sherlock up until his early teen years. Were he younger and more physically able, it would be possible, but alas, middle age comes to everyone and Mycroft is not an exception. More importantly, though, Mycroft is positive Gregory would not appreciate being manhandled in his sleep, even if his intentions _are_ noble: to ensure the inspector has a good night’s rest (and, if he’s honest and slightly less noble, to get the last word in about their sleeping arrangement). Nevertheless, it’s just for one night, so Mycroft grabs a spare blanket from the wardrobe and gently drapes it over the sleeping figure. Before he loses himself to the wave of exhaustion threatening to wash over him, he realises, for the very first time, that the bed is far too large for just one person.

 

* * *

 

In hindsight, the sofa was probably a bad idea. At least, Greg’s back seems to think so. Maybe in his early twenties it would have been fine, but not when he’s well into the middle age range, and boy, does his body take every chance it can to remind him of it. His back aches, his neck hurts, his leg is cramped, and a bed has never looked so bloody comfortable. It’s a king bed, so surely it can accommodate two grown men. Honestly, why didn’t they come to this conclusion earlier?

He quickly strips off to his pants and vest, tossing his clothes onto the sofa. He’s awake enough to take the appropriate precautions against sullying the clean bed with his dirty clothing, yet sleepy enough to disregard the option of rummaging around for his pyjamas and changing into them. Greg stumbles to the bed and slips beneath the covers, soaking in the comfort and the warmth and vaguely registering Mycroft’s silk pyjamas before falling asleep, a smile playing on his face.

 

* * *

 

Five forty-five in the morning and time to get up, Mycroft’s body clock tells him. But unlike every other morning, he is content to lie in bed with his eyes still shut, the pleasant haze of sleep still addling his senses. He doesn't remember his bed ever being this warm. Or his pillow being this comfortable. Or the arm slung loosely over his waist.

Oh. _Oh dear._ Yes, that most definitely is Gregory’s arm slung loosely over his waist.

And, oh, he is absolutely _mortified_ to discover his own hand resting comfortably on the firm, taut muscle of Gregory’s right thigh. He gingerly removes his hand and rests it on his chest instead. It takes much longer than it should have, (he believes the sheer oddity of the situation has effectively numbed his ability to think clearly), but Mycroft finally makes the connection been Gregory’s thigh and the warm weight across his upper thighs. A moment later, the full implications of having felt leg hair and smooth skin hits him with all the force of a great typhoon.

_Good heavens, he’s only wearing his underwear._

Mycroft swallows, and swallows hard.

Perhaps he can slip out from under Gregory…

Mycroft tries to give his feet a little shake, only to feel Gregory’s left foot hooked around his ankle, pinning his right foot down.

Perhaps not, then.

And in all honesty, he’s not sure whether he really wants to.

More importantly, he has a younger brother to scold. 

It’s difficult to manoeuvre when there’s one hundred and eighty centimetres of stocky detective chief inspector—stocky, underdressed detective chief inspector—wrapped around him. Still, Mycroft manages to shift enough to procure his phone from the headboard without arousing Gregory. There’s a groan, some movement, and now he can feel a tell-tale hardness pressing against his thigh. So, he may not have awoken Gregory, but there’s no doubt Gregory is most certainly _aroused._ Damn. He hasn’t had his self-control tested to this extent in a long time, and self-control is something he has learnt to master over the years. At least, until Gregory appeared. In an attempt to distract himself, or rather, returning to what he had intended to do before he was thoroughly distracted, Mycroft starts typing out a message on his phone.   

_He’s a cuddler. You knew._ _–M_

_Are congratulations in order, Mycroft? SH_

_Don’t be silly. I’m not entirely sure as to how we ended up sharing a bed._ _–M_

_Well, get used to it, because you’re sharing a room with him for the rest of your mission. SH_

Mycroft groans and resigns himself to a morning of meditation until Gregory wakes up. Any efforts to fortify his self-control are essential, because he doesn’t know how much longer his self-control will last.

 

* * *

 

_This feels good._

That’s the first thing to cross Greg’s mind when he gains awareness, so he tightens his hold and nuzzles his face further into the silk.

_Shit, I just spent the night cuddled up to Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft Holmes feels good. And he’s going to kill me if he’s awake._

And that’s the second. He carefully removes his limbs from Mycroft’s person, wincing when Mycroft’s eyes open and he brings his steepled hands away from under his chin. During any other time, Greg would laugh at the apparent similarity between the Holmes brothers, but right now, he’s too panicked to even catalogue the gesture.

“Um. About this…” Greg fumbles. He shuffles back to the far side of the bed, putting as much space and bedding between them as possible. It’s not much, considering he and Mycroft were positioned in the middle of the bed. Nor can he go any further. His clothes are far away and he’s not about to risk getting out while, well, while it’s bloody cold, he’s almost starkers, and embarrassingly enough, hard from pressing up against Mycroft in his sleep.

Mycroft turns on his side and regards Greg curiously. Even with the blankets covering him, Greg feels naked in the face of Mycroft’s unnerving, unreadable gaze. Not that there’s not much to hide; not when his face is an alarming shade of red. He’s not sorry, though, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he could, so he swallows down his polite apology and waits.

“How did you end up here?”

“I—my body ached from sleeping on the sofa, so I moved during the night.”

“I did try to warn you.”

“And then let you take the sofa while I hogged this decadent bed all to myself? I don’t think so.”

Mycroft seemingly searches Greg’s face for the answer to a question Greg doesn’t know, and speaks up again once he’s satisfied. “It has come to my attention that we could have just… shared.”

“You wouldn’t mind… sharing?”

“I was not…” Mycroft pauses, taking a moment to consider his words carefully. “I was not averse to the change in our sleeping arrangements this morning. It would have made more sense to carry out that alternative from the beginning of the evening.”

Greg picks through Mycroft’s response, filtering it through what he knows about Mycroft and supplementing it with the visual cues in front of him to reach a conclusion. And for once, he allows himself to hope.

“Is… Is that a fancy way of saying you liked it too?” Greg realises he’s just given himself away, but right now, he can’t give a damn; Mycroft reads him like an open book anyway, so he continues on recklessly. “You, Mycroft Holmes, _liked_ having me snuggle up to you?”

“It appears that way, yes.”

Greg’s smile widens. He wriggles closer to Mycroft, daring to reach out and take Mycroft’s hand in his. “Then does that mean we can stay in bed for a little longer?”

“For a little while. However, I believe Sherlock has ensured we have the next two evenings sharing the same room.” 

“Suppose I should thank him later, then,” Greg murmurs. “Always knew he was a good man.”

“Gregory.” Mycroft huffs a sigh of exasperation. “Must we talk about my brother?”

“You could give me something to talk about instead.”

The boyish grin and suggestive lilt teases out Mycroft’s inner pixie to counter Greg’s, and he finds himself filled with confidence and a desire for banter.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to kiss and tell.”

“Unfortunately there’s been no kissing to talk about yet, although I believe that can easily be arranged, yes?” Greg’s eyes shine bright with anticipation, and he’s delighted to see it reflected in Mycroft’s eyes.  

Mycroft barks out a laugh. “Perhaps after we are reacquainted with our toothbrushes, Gregory.”

Greg quickly retracts his hand from Mycroft’s and claps it over his mouth, bounding out of the bed without any thought for his lack of clothing. None of that is important, not when he hasn’t brushed his teeth since yesterday morning and he’s absolutely vibrating with the pressing _need_ to kiss Mycroft.

 

* * *

 

Not long after, Mycroft enters the bathroom and wraps his dressing gown around Greg’s shoulders. Mycroft doesn’t explain, so Greg doesn’t ask. They stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the large mirror, almost finished brushing their teeth, and Greg’s chest swells with emotion at the domesticity of it all. Only to be replaced by a surge of unbridled want when Mycroft leans over to whisper, so close that his cold, minty breath ghosts over the shell of Greg’s ear.

“You are very, very distracting. Can’t have you walking around in hardly anything.” One hand rests on Greg’s shoulder, and then slowly makes its way down to rest on Greg’s hip. “You almost broke my self-control, Gregory, when you were pressed against me in bed. I could _feel_ you.” Mycroft’s thumb starts rubbing small circles on his hip and Greg can feel it through the gown. “And I had managed to keep it under control, until you jumped out of bed in just your underwear, pushing my self-control to the very edge.”

“Bed. Now,” Greg rasps, leaving the dressing gown in his wake in his scramble back to the room.

They tumble onto the bed, a tangle of long legs and arms, hands running along skin and fabric, fingers tugging at handfuls of hair. And this time, both of them are sure.

“Now,” Mycroft pants, struggling to keep his breathing even. “I believe I promised you a kiss?”

“I’ll kill you if you stop at that.”

 

* * *

_I heard you were responsible for this. Thanks mate. GL_

_If you wish to express your appreciation, I will accept six cold cases as payment. SH_

_You bastard. Two cold cases. GL_

_Four cold cases and a promise to keep Mycroft off my back for a day. SH_

_One would think you are the Holmes brother responsible for international and domestic negotiations. GL_

_Four cold cases and a promise to keep Mycroft off my back for a day, Lestrade. SH_

_Fine. I have many ideas in mind to keep Mycroft busy, anyway… GL_

_Revolting. Cease from talking about your relationship with my brother. SH_

_Wasn’t part of the deal. He’s a great kisser, you know. GL_

_Stop it. I’ll tell John. SH_

_Does this amazing thing with his tongue… GL_

_And his dexterous hands… GL_

_I’m going to block you. SH_

_And a great body, which I plan on getting to know in great detail over the next two nights. GL_

_Whatever you’re doing, continue it. Sherlock’s being great entertainment. JW_

 

* * *

 

“Would you care to share the cause for your amusement?”

Without looking up from his phone, Greg replies, “Sherlock’s collecting payment for my gratitude.” His phone vibrates and Greg chuckles at the response before typing out his own. “Which comes with endless teasing opportunities for me.”

Mycroft snorts. “Of course he is. Cold cases?”

“Four and a promise to keep you away from him for a day.”

The meaningful look Greg pins on Mycroft earns him a quirk of his eyebrow and a twitch of his lips. “Sounds like quite the challenge.”

“Don’t be too sure; I reckon I can keep you busy for a day.”

“Oh?” Greg stills when Mycroft leans forward, the air between them growing warm with their steady breaths. Mycroft lowers his voice and looks straight into Greg’s eyes. “I look forward to it.”

“So do I.”

 

 


End file.
